The Surfacing of Summer

In gratitude for peaceful Summer evenings...

The Surfacing of Summer:

At last,

the tide of Summer

turns.

And the land,

like a great grey whale, 

sudden surfacing

from the deep of

winter's waters

into sunshine's seas

feels the waves 

of warmth,

white tipped with

tree blossom 

foam,

call her

into blessed breaching

and joyous 

jumping.

Singing her wild

whale song

of summer in every 

form of

flower

she charms us 

who chase 

light,

and spouts 

the fragrance 

of the 

Summer Kingdom into 

hearts

that remember a 

home

once lost 

and longed for, 

and now, 

lilting

lovingly draws

lo,

in each 

lauds

praising

of love's 

eternal

conquest.

Basking in 

blessedness,

she becomes the 

Summer Isle,

on which we shivering 

sailors

pitch up and 

recover 

rest,

while white birds 

soar

above her in blue

and lift our souls

skywards

once

more

to the stillness

of stars

in a summer's

night sky,

offering their 

divinely

ordered dance

above the 

phosphorescent 

flash

of mountaintop flukes,

tipped 

with the golden 

sheen

of last 

light's touch 

of love.

The May Magnificat

 The Month of May is dedicated to Our Lady and brings with it a plenitude of heavenly riches indeed! 

Our Mother is the one who in her own person brings in the One who is the Light of the World and, with Joseph as his earthly guardian, guides Him to readiness for His Mission. 

In and through Mary we receive every gift: for while the Church, and the Sacraments come to us from Christ, Christ comes to us through Mary. 

Christ, the Eternal Word is spoken into our world by Mary's word: it is through her "fiat!", her "Yes!" that we have communion with Christ. 

Salve Regina Angelorum!

Today traditionally people greeted the May sunrise and gave thanks for the first fruits and flowers of Summer by dressing the Holy Wells and the wayside shrines to Mary. In the home the May Altar was erected and fresh flowers placed there throughout the month. Consecration of homes, families and individuals to Mary’s protection took place and May processions and crownings of Our Lady’s Icons and statues were celebrated...

So however you celebrate these days may our holy Mother be with you and yours!

The poem May Magnificat by the mystic and poet Gerald Manly Hopkins puts it so beautifully;

The May Magnificat

 

MAY is Mary’s month, and I 

Muse at that and wonder why: 

    Her feasts follow reason, 

    Dated due to season— 

 

Candlemas, Lady Day;         

But the Lady Month, May, 

    Why fasten that upon her, 

    With a feasting in her honour? 

 

Is it only its being brighter 

Than the most are must delight her?         

    Is it opportunest 

    And flowers finds soonest? 

 

Ask of her, the mighty mother: 

Her reply puts this other 

    Question: What is Spring?—         

    Growth in every thing— 

 

Flesh and fleece, fur and feather, 

Grass and greenworld all together; 

    Star-eyed strawberry-breasted 

    Throstle above her nested         

 

Cluster of bugle blue eggs thin 

Forms and warms the life within; 

    And bird and blossom swell 

    In sod or sheath or shell. 

 

All things rising, all things sizing         

Mary sees, sympathising 

    With that world of good, 

    Nature’s motherhood. 

 

Their magnifying of each its kind 

With delight calls to mind         

    How she did in her stored 

    Magnify the Lord. 

 

Well but there was more than this: 

Spring’s universal bliss 

    Much, had much to say         

    To offering Mary May. 

 

When drop-of-blood-and-foam-dapple 

Bloom lights the orchard-apple 

    And thicket and thorp are merry 

    With silver-surfèd cherry         

 

And azuring-over greybell makes 

Wood banks and brakes wash wet like lakes 

    And magic cuckoocall 

    Caps, clears, and clinches all— 

 

This ecstasy all through mothering earth        

Tells Mary her mirth till Christ’s birth 

    To remember and exultation 

    In God who was her salvation.

Gerald Manley Hopkins sj

Queen of the May

 For the First of May, Our Lady’s Month and 

Lá fheile Bealtaine

Queen of the May

O Lady of the White May Crown,

who brings the greening glory,

the sun sparkle upon the waters,

and the great sap surge of ancient trees,

enfold us in your blue mantle sewn of sky,

of Swift and Swallow jewelled,

embroidered with the Blackbird song 

of bright beckoning, 

that we might sing the song of Summer with you.

O Lady of the purple dawn and evening,

whose brow is crowned with starlight

and rainbows of sudden storms arising,

shine upon us now your thrice reflected light,

lowly, and lunar, and loved by the lost,

who find in you their path, their peace, their way home again.

O Lady of the Summer Lands,

whose passing step

now warms and wakes the seed,

the bloom, the berry upon the bough,

and brings to beast and bird

the burgeoning days of nest and den,

and sweet deep secret places

of nascent newness playing,

where eternity touches time

in the ancient song of making,

for of you life itself chose its bearing place.

Bless us too with birth, with life, with long sunlit days of joy, 

that in their serried passing draw us forward 'neath 

the Sun you bore within and then, 

onward into His wondrous light,

that past and childed summers shine with still within our memories, soul sprung from innocence that only you have kept,

then keep for us as greeting kiss bestowed 

upon our final homing into holiday.

Assumption Eve Medicine

 

 

Assumption Eve Medicine

 

For two months turning

the old women,

they who have the knowing,

have watched their charges carefully.

Picked at the height of their power

on the short night, after the long day;

the feast of fire,

that vigils the Baptist’s coming,

when lads and ladies leap

like hares over flames

and look with longing for love,

as children sing the old songs

filled with mystic meaning;

that night they were gathered

as grace and gift

beneath the light of sister Moon,

the Lady’s lamp and plucked

from garden and from forest glade,

by woman’s hands alone.

Now, they, the herbs for healing,

hang in blessed bunches

over the hearth of home,

or kept in kitchens

above the range,

or bound in byres

where the warming breath

of the queen kine keeps them

charmed and waiting

to release their medicine,

the healing pulse

of sister Mother Earth

and Brother Sun’s distilled light

mixed, and married, and greened,

in root, and shoot,

and leaf, and flower.

So they, the healing herbs,

have rested until tonight

when as dusk comes on

and begins to breathe her

autumnal quickening,

these wise ones take them down

and bring them now

to the old places of prayer

to the abbeys and chapels,

to the candled shrines

of the sainted ones,

who themselves bore

the fruit of blessing

and were heaven’s healing,

the salve of souls,

upon the earth.

There they find

the Lady’s chapel,

and lay their leafy burdens

beneath the linen cloths

upon the Altar, there to await

Assumption’s dawn,

and as the Mass bells ring

to have the holy words

said over them that render

them thrice blessed again,

and ready to release their

gentle healing gifts,

blessed once in very being

from first beginning’s breathing,

blessed twice in the burning

touch of Love’s own resurrection light

when all was made anew,

blessed thrice by the Lady’s prayers,

she who is the stock from which

all healing blooms,

and in her gathering home raised all

that grows green upon this good earth

to become heaven’s healing help again;

Eden’s elixir restored in her

and birthed anew as grace,

just as these sainted herbs

ground upon the mortar’s stone

will give their essence up,

and become the holy way

by which their medicine

blesses bodies and anoints

our souls to ready us

in our own time,

for Heaven’s

homing.

Vigil of the Assumption 14th August 2018.

In many places it was the ancient custom for women to gather herbs around the feast of St. John the Baptist (Midsummer) and then bring them to the Churches for blessing on the feast of the Assumption before they were made into medicine for the Winter ahead. The herbs were placed beneath the Altar Cloths and around the Sanctuary before the dawn Mass there to be offered to the Lord, through Mary’s hands, she who is the “first fruits” of His saving love, so as to receive her special prayers of healing and be blessed in their medicinal use in the year ahead.

The Ritual of the Church still provides for such blessings should they be requested.

 

(Pics in this post found as random uncredited images on the web)

 

 

Meditation for St. John's Eve

Meditation for St. John's Eve:

Now, as Vespers sings itself
to dusk’s silent sitting,
the beacons begin to burn.
Men watching for the moment
of Moon’s waning,
in twilight midsummer sky lit
by a Sun too lazy to truly set,
so to kindle flame for the Forerunner;
John.
He whose element is fire.
Both lamps now hanging
in cloth of such deep blue
that the world seems enfolded
in the mantle of one
who midwifed his birth,
even as she joined her magnificat
to old Elizabeth’s pangs,
and doubting Zechariah’s silence,
beneath the shining stars of desert sky.

Now, as Matins touches midnight
of Monks long vigilling,
the herbs are gathered.
Women seeking
the helpers and the healers
in wood, and dell, and garden bed,
where, blessed by dew and moonlight
and the long warmth of Sun’s summer,
the Yarrow and the Bracken,
the Fennel and the Rue,
the Rosemary and the Foxglove,
always the Elder and
the great yellow flower of the Forerunner
willingly give up
their essence on the night
that marks the first whisper
of the Word’s healing breath,
breathed through the one
who is His herald Voice;
John.
Dried, and hung,
and laid upon the Lady Altar
to become more than they are
they will bestow divine healing.
Twice gifted and graced
by Summer’s picking
and Autumn’s
Assumption blessing,
they reveal the medicine
present always, beneath.

Now, as Lauds’ psalms sun skywards
the pots and pans
and ancient drums are beaten.
The children sing the old songs
and the rhymes long lost to meaning,
as young men and women, harelike,
leap heedless across the
dying flames together.
Recalling he who leapt with joy,
filled with fire, even in womb’s waters,
so near was the One who first kindled flame,
rendered the rivers holy and made the wells
vessels of new birth.

Now, as Mass bell tolls dawn’s daily resurrection
monks and men,
and women, and children all
hear the summons of the Sanctifier
and His herald
loud upon morning’s breeze
as embers die down, and herbs are hung up.
Beneath the vaulted stone they gather
to join their voices to praise
that vastness veiled
in simple bread and wine,
and hear again the word first spoken by
the herald,
the lamp,
the flame,
the leaper,
the prophet,
the angel,
the voice,
the Baptist,
whose birth they have
blessed anew,
cry across the ages
“Behold the Lamb of God!”

I wrote this in 2016 to illuminate so many of the customs we have lost that wove the wisdom of the wild and the faith together so beautifully. On St. John's Eve, (The Vigil of the Feast of the Birth of St. John the Baptist), the last official day of the solstice, bonfires were set burning to commemorate the fire of the Baptist's faith and the facing into the waning of natural light after the longest day.
Couples leaping across the fire was an old betrothal custom. This was also the traditional night for gathering the herbs that would be used as medicine for the year to come. Gathered tonight and dried until Assumption Day they would then be blessed in the Monasteries at the first Mass at Our Lady's Altar... The songs and noise making around the boundaries of the hills and the fields was to frighten away evil and stagnancy so as to refresh the fields and prepare for the Harvest... Our faith was and is both holy and holistic and we must return to such deep knowing again... May the Baptist pray for us on this the feast of fire!